Rogue: Critical Condition
by featherfinn
Summary: Rogue is in a coma, her powers out of control. Professor Charles and Wolverine need to find out why in order to save her, but they can't touch her. They can barely get near her. Meanwhile, Rogue fights a battle of the mind.
1. Burning Up

I.

_Professor Xavier wheeled himself quietly through the sliding white doors and into the hall of the medical bay. His face was grim, and he pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully. Just outside the doors, hands clenched behind his back, Logan checked his pacing. With one hand, he rubbed the back of his knuckles, as if itching a desire just beneath his skin. His furrowed brow bore a more brooding, glowering look than usual. His head was bent so that his jaw, set and badly needing a shave, was almost pressed against his chest. He turned to face the Professor._

"_Well?" he growled. "She going to make it?"_

"_It's difficult to tell," the Professor replied somberly. "Things would be easier if we knew what happened. Ordinarily I could just get inside her head, probe her mind, but I can't touch her. I can barely get near her. It's like getting near a live wire."_

_Logan clenched his teeth, his arms folded now across his broad chest. "When I find who did this to her," he muttered._

"_There will be a time for that later," Professor Xavier cut it. "Rogue is a very strong person, and in more ways than one. Right now I don't know if the problem is entirely physical, or if it's also psychological, emotional; or both. We're doing everything we can to get her through this, but we can only do so much on our own. We need her to be fighting, too, but in the state she's in…"_

"_Let me see her, Chuck." Logan followed the Professor as he wheeled around and headed back into the hospital room, through another pair of sliding doors. As the doors slid shut behind their backs, Logan's eyes sped to the hospital bed, where Rogue lay atop white sheets. Her jeans, cut-offs that stopped above the knee, were torn and dirty, and the seams in her sleeveless shirt were ripped. Her arms and legs and feet were bare, which was unusual. She wore no gloves; she had been found, no gloves, no shoes, shivering, barely conscious. Bringing Rogue back to the mansion had been difficult because touching or even getting near her had proven incredibly and unexplainably dangerous._

_There were no tubes, no needles, no wires; nothing attached to her. A heart monitor stood in the corner of the white room, silent. An IV pole and bag stood uselessly at the foot of the bed, the needle melted and misshapen on a tray a few feet behind it. No one had been able to get near to Rogue long enough to draw blood or administer any drugs. The only people able to do much had been Jean and Professor Xavier, and now only the Professor._

"_It's difficult to reach her from afar," Professor Xavier began. Logan remained silent and stern, arms folded, facing Rogue with a set expression. "If somehow I could get closer, I might be able to see into her mind and find out the source of the problem."_

"_Chuck," Logan said. "Use me." He turned his face to his friend and gestured with one of his hands. "If she can absorb even a little of my healing ability, maybe—,"_

"_No, I can't allow that. Not after what happened to Nightcrawler and Jean." He shook his head slowly, closed his eyes. He opened them again when he felt Logan plant a hand firmly on one of his shoulders._

"_Listen to me, Chuck," Wolverine's muscles were tensed; Charles could feel it in the hand on his shoulder. "I know what happened to Nightcrawler and Jean, but they don't got what I do. Even if I get hurt, it's nothing I can't handle. Worst case, I'll end up in one of these beds myself and be no help at all, but that's where I'm at right now anyway." He took his hand off the Professor's shoulder. "I'm not talking a prolonged touch here; just a brush, if I can get close enough."_

_Charles put his head in his hands and sighed. "It doesn't seem there's much point in arguing with you, Logan. I know how stubborn you can be." He chuckled wryly. "Anyway, you might be right."_

_Logan's clenched teeth loosened a bit as a grin lifted one side of his mouth. "No use arguing at all, Chuck. I made up my mind long ago. It's about the only thing anyone's thought of yet." He let his hands drop to his sides. "You might want to stand back. If something should happen—well, don't worry about me. Just worry about Rogue. She's in rougher shape than I ever could be."_

_Wolverine walked over to where Rogue lay. Even from several feet away, he could feel the heat-like energy emanating from her white skin. As he reached out to brush her forearm, with the back of his hand so as to ensure minimal physical contact, Wolverine felt like he was reaching through fire. When he brushed his hand over Rogue's skin, a violent charge, hot and searing like electricity, coursed through him, flinging him off his feet and back away from the bed._

_Wolverine didn't even feel the wall when he crashed into it. His head was awhirl with abstract thoughts, notions, emotions, none of them his own. His insides burned. He felt pain, anguish, frustration, and fear like he'd never felt before. It made him want to scream, to rip something apart; to unleash all his futile rage until everything was gone—all the names, lives, memories, all gone, and nothing left but he himself, alone in the dark, alone in the ruins._

"_Logan!" The Professor's voice sounded strange and flat now in the quiet room. Wolverine remained as he was, crumpled against the wall. His claws had been unleashed, and remained so, even as he leaned unconsciously against the wall, his eyes closed tightly, his brow knit in a deep frown, as if he were in great pain. Several moments passed, then Charles heard the sound of Logan's deep breathing, and knew he would be all right. He turned his attention to Rogue._

_The current-like energy emanating from the girl, still deep in a coma, had ebbed, and it was much easier for the Professor to get near her. He wheeled himself close to her head and snapped a latex glove onto his hand before placing a finger to her temple. She still gave no sign of cognizance; her eyebrows remained bent downward, her eyes scrunched closed. Her dark, dry lips were parted slightly over her teeth, the corners of her mouth pulled downward slightly in what almost looked like a concentrated frown. Her drawn face now was dotted with beads of sweat. Her breathing, shallow, uneven, made a rushing sound through her nose and teeth. Her dampened hair fanned out behind her head and neck on a white hospital pillow. "Well now, Rogue," Xavier whispered gently, closing his eyes; "why don't you tell me what happened."_

Pencils. It'd begun with pencils. Those stupid No. 2 pencils with their breakable lead—so useless. Couldn't be sharpened without breaking the lead again. Ground them down to a stub. Jammed the sharpener. Shouldn't be used by anyone.

"Hey Rogue, can I borrow a pencil?" Zachary hissed, turning in his seat to face her. Rogue lifted her eyes from her paper. "My lead broke." He held up his pencil to indicate the missing lead.

Rogue had seldom spoken to Zachary before. He was a cheery, likeable fellow; got along with everyone. Brown hair and a dazzling smile. Tall, wiry, but not thin. Easy-going. Got good grades. It wasn't that Rogue was shy or into him, but new acquaintances tended to make her nervous. The few times she'd tried with others—tried simply joining in on the conversation around her—she'd found that conversation stopped and she received odd looks. The last time this happened, she'd gotten so fed up that she burst out, "Yes, Ah can _talk!_ Ah just choose not to most days."

That had left an impression. Their surprised expressions had an abrasive affect on her already rising temper. Slamming her locker and violently slinging her bag over her shoulder, she had stormed off, feeling eyes on her back as she retreated. Who were they to judge her? Why did they have to determine who was fit to interject on conversation and who wasn't? Obviously they had placed her in the latter group. 'Just ferget it all,' she decided. 'Ah don't need friends. Ah don't need anyone.' She knew it wasn't the silence—it was the distance. She couldn't truly be comfortable around people when she knew she could not touch them. The gloves, the sleeves, the ever-covered skin, it all contributed to the sense of distance, the sense that she ought to be kept at arm's length. And beneath her skin, Rogue's blood boiled.

"Yeah, sure. Ah hope you don't mahnd mechanical," Rogue murmured back, leaning sideways out of her seat to rummage through her knapsack. Amid the books and loose papers, her gloved fingers curled around something smooth and cylindrical, and she pulled it up from the depths of her school bag. "Here you go," she said, extending her hand and the object in it toward Zachary.

Zachary reached out to take it, and stopped halfway, a crooked grin quirking up his mouth. "That a highlighter," he stated, and leaned back amusedly.

Rogue looked at her hand, embarrassed. Yes, it was indeed a highlighter; a purple one. "Oh, Ah—Ah'm sorry. Jus' gimme a sec." She dropped the highlighter on her desk. "Stupid gloves," she muttered; "can't feel worth anythin' with these things." Quickly ripping the glove from her right hand, she plunged again into her knapsack, feeling around. But she could not find a pencil. Blindly she groped, leaning even further sideways, straining for the bottom of her bag until she felt the tip of a pencil. She stretched, curled her fingers around it—and fell out of her seat.

The class laughed as she cried out with surprise and groaned and rose to a sitting position. She was dazed for a moment, but soon utter humiliation washed over her. Rogue squinted her eyes behind the hair that fell forward over her bent face and sighed through her teeth.

"Quiet! Everyone quiet down!" the teacher waved his ruler in the air, rapped it on his desk, trying to regain order. The students for the most part ignored him, but some tried to quell their sniggering, muffling laughter behind their hands.

Suddenly aware of someone standing over her, Rogue looked up. Zachary was smiling down at her, sheepishly. "Sorry," he said. "I think that was my fault. Here, let me help you," and reached down. Rogue transferred the pencil to her left hand and raised the other to accept his offer, when she saw the white skin of her fingers. Skin! Her heart skipped a beat at the mistake she'd almost made. Startled, Rogue snatched her hand back and replaced the glove with a sigh, pulling it snugly down to her wrist. She decided then there was little point in accepting Zachary's help anymore, and slowly rose on her own, using her desk to pull herself up.

"Here's that pencil," she said softly, looking down at the floor as Zachary awkwardly took it from her.

"Uh, th-thanks," he stammered. "I'll give it back to you after class.

"Uh-huh." Rogue shrugged, and mumbled, "You can just keep it." She hardly felt that she could look Zachary in the face again, not for a long time. Miserably she turned her attention back to her paper and the professor's lecture on algorithms.

It was early May. In the cloudless sky, the late-afternoon sun shone warmly. Spring had come sooner than in previous years, melting the snow in mid-March. The grass already bore a deep green hue, but the trees were still bare, with only a few fine twigs beginning to bud. Rogue stalked down the school steps, her last class having come to completion. She had spent the entire lunch period alone, getting ahead in her history reading; an excuse to eat in the hall, away from everyone. Usually she could sit with Kitty and Kurt and some of the others from Xavier's mansion, but today, she just wanted to be by herself.

It had not been a good day. The story of how she'd fallen in math class, and then snubbed Zachary Carson, had spread. All the rest of the day she'd tried to ignore the concealed smiles and laughter whenever she walked past a group of students in the hall, walking from one class to the next.

Rogue sighed. It was warm, so warm; why had she worn a sweater? She was dressed for winter, not spring, although the mornings were still quite chilly; sometimes there was frost on the ground. Rogue rolled up her sleeves, folding them above her elbow, then stopped, leaned down, balancing her knapsack on her back, and began to roll up her jeans, keeping them below the knees. That was a little better, but she was still incredibly warm. Her hands were sweating. Rogue looked around. She was already on the path that led away from school and to the Institute. No one was around; Kitty, Jean, Scott and the rest had not left yet. They were probably still socializing, or riding back in Scott's car later.

Satisfied that there was no one around, Rogue removed first one glove, then the other, shoving them into her jeans pocket. This done, she resumed her walk, running her bare fingers through her damp hair; her fingers enjoyed the newfound freedom. 'Ah could get used to this,' she thought, but then frowned. She looked down at her bare hands, her long, slender white fingers, her nails neatly polished even though no one ever would notice. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable; almost exposed. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she told herself. 'No one's even around to notice. It doesn't matter!' That's when she heard pounding footsteps behind her.

She turned around, and was surprised to see Zachary running her way. Quickly she turned away and began to walk at a brisker pace, shoulders hunched, face bent to the ground. 'No, not him, not now!'

"Rogue!" he called out. "Rogue, wait up!" She ignored him, lengthening her stride to stay ahead, but she knew he would catch up, and was bracing herself. It was inevitable. She would not run; that would be even more embarrassing. The last thing she needed was another embarrassment.

'Let's keep the tally to two, okay?' she thought.

Soon enough Zachary was beside her. "C'mon Rogue, just stop for a minute, please?" he panted.

Rogue paused, then stopped and asked, "What d'you want?"

"Oh, thank you," Zachary wheezed, bracing himself, hands on his knees, gasping. "You—heh, you really made me run!" He returned to his panting.

Rogue waited, a sour look on her face, for him to catch his breath. At length, Zachary stood up, still breathing heavily. "I wanted to give you your pencil back."

"Ah told you that you could keep it," Rogue reminded him, frowning, her eyebrows knit.

"I know, but I think you were mad at me after what happened."

"What? N-no, Ah wasn't mad," Rogue exclaimed, surprised. "Ah just—it wasn't your fault. Ah'm not mad at you."

"Sure it was my fault. You wouldn't have fallen out of your seat if it weren't for me." He grinned. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt." Rogue remained silent. "Oh come on, Rogue, it wasn't that bad, was it? You've got to admit, it WAS kind of funny."

"Whatever!" Rogue burst out, and spun and started away again.

"Rogue, wait! I, I'm sorry! I didn't mean like that!" He ran after her. "I just mean…well, never mind. I'm sorry. It was my fault." Rogue didn't answer, just kept walking. "Won't you talk to me?"

"Go away."

Zachary stopped. Shrugged. "All right, if that's what you want. But first," he held up her mechanical pencil in the air; black, purple eraser, "I'm going to return your pencil." Rogue still didn't respond. Zachary jogged to catch up to her again, keeping pace beside her. Rogue kept her gaze forward, tried to pretend he wasn't there. "I insist!" Zachary was in front of her now, so Rogue, rather than try to dodge around him, finally stopped.

"Fine." She held out her hand for him to place the pencil in her palm. But before she could yank her hand back, Zachary had reached out with his other hand. "No! Don't do that—!" but it was too late. Zachary grabbed Rogue's bare fingers, in an attempt to pull them forward and dramatically place the pencil in Rogue's palm. A surprised look, as if he had been shocked, flashed across his face before he crumpled to the ground.

"Zachary!" Rogue cried out, but her head was reeling. She was not prepared for the sudden absorption. She squeezed her eyes closed. Memories, thoughts, feelings, swirling in her mind, coursing through her being. She put both hands to her head, falling to her knees. Everything was bright, like brilliant flashes of light, one scene after another, one feeling, thought, ability, washing over her; and it was so hot, so unbearably hot; it burned; she was sweating, drenched in sweat; burning up, on fire, too hot, couldn't bear it…

_The professor yanked his hand backward, ripping off the glove that had begun to melt around his fingers. "What's wrong, Chuck?" Logan's voice came from behind him. He was conscious, but sounded weary. Nevertheless, the professor was relieved._

"_I don't know. But I think I was getting some important information. It began a couple days ago, at school. It seems Rogue had a bit of a rough day. Remember that boy, the one she accidentally touched?"_

_Logan nodded his head. "The one just released from the hospital?"_

"_Yes. I can't be sure, but it seems things started with him. No, he didn't do this to Rogue," Xavier said quickly when he saw the anger flash through Logan's eyes. "But he might have inadvertently started something. I can't know for sure."_

"_Are you going to go back in?" Logan asked._

"_Not yet. I think it would harm her right now. She's at a delicate stage; I don't know just how awake her mind is right now. It seems to be playing scenes over and again. So many conflicting notions; it was hard to find a steady stream of thought. No, I'll let her rest."_

_Logan's frown deepened. "Is she doing all right?"_

"_Yes, for now; it seems she absorbed only the smallest portion of your healing ability. I don't know why she didn't take more, but I think it was enough." Silently he added, 'For now.' The professor turned to Logan. He was holding himself against the wall, rubbing his head with one hand, massaging his temples with thumb and forefinger, eyes closed. "Are you all right?"_

"_I don't know, Chuck. There's stuff in my head that wasn't there before. But I think I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Let's just focus on the girl."_

_Xavier nodded. "We'll have to wait for a little while. I know I'm getting somewhere, but I don't want to do any damage."_

_Logan assented with a nod. But he was only half-listening. Something was pricking at the back of his mind. A thought, a memory—he wasn't sure. He couldn't focus; whenever he did, it slipped further back as if to avoid discovery. Frustrated, he turned his thoughts away._


	2. Escalation

II.

_An hour had gone by. Xavier had at last convinced Logan to rest. Physically, he knew, Wolverine was quite fine, but the mind beneath the adamantium skull was strained from his brush with Rogue's power. But since Rogue absorbed a small measure of Logan's healing ability, the energy radiating from her skin had begun to ebb and flow like waves of heat. Xavier had decided that, during a window of low energy, he would try again to enter Rogue's unconscious mind. Her condition now seemed a bit more stable, though she gave no outward sign of improvement. Perhaps it was the healing ability at work, or Xavier's mental probes; he did not know. He was driven by an intuition that once the cause was found, the cure could be found also._

_The key now was to get Rogue's mind to fight. He was almost sure that whatever had happened was affecting her mentally. But he was not quite positive. Further probing would confirm that hypothesis, but he had to be extremely careful. It was like a delicate operation on the brain, and his telepathic scalpel could easily slip, causing even more damage than whatever happened to Rogue in the first place._

_Xavier suddenly sensed that the energy levels around Rogue had dipped significantly. Working quickly, for he knew he did not have much time, Xavier covered his fingers with a strip of terry cloth and again rested them on Rogue's brow. Closing his eyes, he concentrated._

White lights. Blue-tiled floors. Blank walls. A hospital. Rogue sat with Scott and Jean in the waiting room. Having regained her senses and then standing for several indecisive moments beside the crumpled form of Zachary Carson, she finally made up her mind. She had spotted Scott and Jean on the path as she ran back toward the school. They must have known from the look on her face that something was wrong. But it had not been their idea to take Zachary to the hospital. A few students overheard Rogue's hurried but vague explanation, and one of them had taken it upon herself to fetch the school nurse. The woman found the threesome minutes later, on the sidewalk where Zachary lay.

"Let's get this boy to the hospital," the nurse said firmly, taking charge.

"No, that's really not necessary," Jean began to protest. "He'll be fi—,"

"How do you know that?" demanded the nurse, a short, stocky woman with brown hair. The threesome suddenly realized they could give no explanation. There was no chance of further arguing. It was decided. The school found Zachary's home phone number and called his parents. An ambulance arrived to take the boy to the hospital. His mother and father arrived at the ER soon after.

Scott had decided that he, Rogue, and Jean should go as well. They knew that Zachary would be fine. "But we need to know what he remembers," Scott intoned, his hands clenching the steering wheel of his red sports car. "If he remembers what happened, Jean might need to erase part of his memory."

"Really, Rogue," Jean chided, "you know better than to take your gloves off in public."

"Ah wasn't in public!" Rogue protested. "There was no one else around!"

"Jean's right," Scott reprimanded. "Anytime you're somewhere you could potentially run into someone, you need to keep those gloves on."

"You try it sometime," Rogue muttered, simmering. She made no further protests and remained sullenly silent for the remainder of the ride.

They had stayed in the waiting room for what seemed eons. Soon Zachary's parents, escorted by a doctor, joined them. "We need to run some scans," the doctor told them. "But it looks like heat exhaustion. He over-exerted himself and passed out, most likely. It's an unusually warm day. After a long, cold winter, it can be a shock to the system. Worst case scenario, he'll wake up with a bad headache."

'Well,' thought Rogue gloomily, 'they're right about the headache.'

Zachary's parents spotted Rogue. "You're the girl who found him?"

"Well Ah, that is, yeah, kinda," she stammered.

"Thank you!" cried his mother, suddenly embracing her and holding her tight. "Thank you. You're an angel."

'Oh if she knew the truth…Ah'm just glad Ah rolled my sleeves down again. Good thing it's cold in here.' Aloud she mumbled, "It was nothin', really. Anyone woulda' done the same."

"Well, I'm just glad you were there," his mother said. "You did the right thing."

Jean and Scott exchanged a glance, and Jean closed her eyes. Her face went blank. When she opened her eyes and said they could go, Rogue was relieved. She endured a parting shower of gratitude from Mrs. Carson before finally taking her leave with Scott and Jean. Thankfully the two spared her form further lectures on her recklessness.

'Ah wish Ah'd been sick today,' she thought angrily. 'All because of a stupid pencil. What a mess.'

It was late afternoon before the threesome made it back to the institute. Scott pulled through the wrought-iron gates and up the long drive. Rogue stepped from Scott's car as soon as it stopped in front of the mansion and walked up the steps. In the glass doors, she could see Scott and Jean reflected. Scott came to Jean's door and opened it for her. She smiled up at him and stood. Scott smiled back as he wrapped his arm about her waist and pulled her to himself.

Rogue sneered to herself. 'They're in a good enough mood.' Scott and Jean's reflection disappeared as the opened the front door and let herself in. 'Yeah, you enjoy that physical-contact business,' she mocked. 'Never-mahnd that some of us can't.' _One of us_, she corrected herself.

In the room she shared with Kitty Pryde, Rogue sulked over some homework. But she found it hard to concentrate. Her day at school had put her in a sour mood, and absorbing Zachary's memories had cluttered her mind. It was like trying to do makeup in a broken mirror. Fragmented thoughts and shards of disjointed recollections kept Rogue from thinking clearly. She was certain she had read the first paragraph of chapter 7 in Geology at least a dozen times without retaining a word.

With a sigh Rogue snapped the book shut and reached for her math homework. The pages caught on something as she pulled them from her bag, and she clenched her teeth as she tried to free them. Frustration welled up inside of her. She gave the papers an angry yank. _Rrrrrip!_ One of the pages tore across the middle. Rogue fairly roared with anger at herself and the stupid, loose pages that bent and crumpled as soon as they were tucked inside her knapsack. She slammed the sheets onto her desk and clawed her hair away from her face, fuming. 'Calm down,' she thought. 'Breathe. Calm down. It's okay. Just tape it together.'

Still trembling with frustrated rage, Rogue reached for the tape and carefully taped the page back together. 'There. Good as new.' She picked up her pencil, a green one; she had thrown the pencil Zachary returned into her bag and hoped to never see it again, at least not for a long time. 'Now…concentrate.' Math was not her forte, and the equations took all of her concentration, distracting her from the embittered feelings. The contents of Zachary's mind began to fade into the background with all the rest.

At length someone knocked on the door. "Rogue," came Kurt's voice, "are you coming to dinner?"

Rogue imagined sitting around the table with all the other students and hearing about her mishap yet again. Surely Scott and Jean had told the professor; he would have another lecture for her, in front of everyone. Her temper simmered.

"No. Ah'm not hungry."

"Ach, not hungry?" Kurt exclaimed. "You can't be serious! I'm starving! Come on, everyone is waiting."

Rogue closed her eyes. 'Don't take it out on Kurt, don't take it out on Kurt, don't take it out—,"

"They should thank me," she snapped, "for staying in mah room, where Ah won't accidentally put everyone in a coma."

Kurt was silent. Then he answered softly, gently, "If you're feeling down about the no-touching thing…" He paused. "Well, I know how you feel, having to be careful around people. But we all understand. Just come down to dinner, won't you? They'll all be mad at me if I go back without you."

'He doesn't know.' Rogue felt chastened yet again. "All right," she mumbled. "Ah'll come." Stewing, she opened the door and took the stair as Nightcrawler teleported to the dining room.

At the table she avoided meeting anyone's gaze and did not contribute the mealtime conversation. Instead she picked at her food and tried to forget about her day. She couldn't help but wonder why Scott and Jean had not mentioned the incident to Professor X. Could it be they were covering for her? No; that did not seem likely. The most probably explanation was that the Professor already knew and kindly decided not to humiliate her further. Whatever the case, Rogue was glad that it did not come up during the meal. Surely, though, he would speak to her afterward.

Somehow Rogue managed to finish the pasta with white sauce on her plate and nibbled her way through dessert. Her mood improved with the nourishment, and she was able to smile once or twice at humorous turns in conversation. Even so, she needed space and time to herself to simmer down completely. The thought of school the next day was no comfort.

The meal over and dishes cleared, Rogue was on her way to the kitchen to help with cleanup when Professor Xavier stopped her. "Rogue," he called in a low voice, "may I speak with you?"

'Ah knew it,' she thought. 'Here comes Lecture Number 3.' She gave a shame-faced nod and followed him out of the dining room and to his study.

"Scott and Jean told me about today," Charles began. "I have no doubt that Zachary will be fine. I'm sure he will suffer no ill effects from today's little incident at school."

Rogue just nodded, not meeting his eyes. She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair across from the Professor.

"Do you want to talk about today?" Professor X suggested.

"What's there to talk about?" Rogue muttered. "Ah made a stupid mistake. Scott and Jean were right. Ah was reckless to take off my gloves and think that it would be okay for even just a minute!" She stopped, trying to rein in her temper. But it was no use. "Ah'm so sick of this!" she exploded. "Ah have to be all covered up everywhere Ah go, no matter what Ah do! And people notice! You can't hardly wear gloves every day of your dumb life without people startin' to wonder! What must they think of me? Ah can't get close to people even if Ah want to in case they accidentally touch me, like today, and Ah'm tired of it! Ah'm tired of my stupid useless power, and not being able to control it!" She broke off, in tears, and buried her face in her gloved hands. "It's not mah fault!"

"No," said Professor Charles. "Of course it's not. It's very hard to deal with a power that you cannot control. Take Scott, for instance. Or Nightcrawler with his image-inducer. But that's why you are here, Rogue. Not just to learn to use your power and perhaps control it one day, but to be with others like you, who understand what it's like to keep their distance from people. You are with us so that we can be here for you."

Rogue sniffed and blinked back her tears. "Ah know," she choked. "Ah know that's why Ah'm here. But it's still hard, even at the Institute." She paused, and added negatively, "Somehow Ah doubt anyone here really understands what it's like."

"We all have our burdens—,"

'"Burden" is right,' Rogue thought—

"—and that's why we all support each other." Professor Xavier gave Rogue a regarding look. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," Rogue mumbled. "A little. Can Ah go now?"

"Of course."

Rogue stalked out of Xavier's study and meandered up to her room. Maybe if she turned in early and brought this day to a close at last…yes, that's what she would do. Surely tomorrow would be better; people would have forgotten about the incident. It would be a normal day. She could mind her own business as she usually did and try her best to go unnoticed.

In her room, Rogue changed into her nightclothes, glad she had finished tomorrow's homework earlier that evening. Kitty probably would not be in until later; it was only 8 PM. Rogue locked the bedroom door anyway, reflecting that a locked door had never stopped Kitty.

Rogue curled up atop her covers; even the night was warm, and her winter blankets would be overkill. She stretched out, turned over, ran a hand over the blue fabric of the comforter, stared up at the ceiling. She closed her eyes to the white lights, blue-tiled floors, blank walls. A hospital. Rogue sat with Scott and Jean in the waiting room—

_Professor X sat back abruptly, at once perplexed. Another loop? Rogue's thoughts returned to the beginning, to the hospital. What was going on? What was the meaning of these mental loops of memory that played when he entered her mind? Not only did the repeat, but they often seemed interrupted by an intersecting thought, perhaps belonging to someone she touched. But who? Was it one person, or several? Rogue's mind was always difficult to navigate on account of the minds whose essence she absorbed. Yet this was different. These interruptions almost seemed pointed, deliberate, but Xavier could not know why._

'_If only I had been more deliberate when I talked to her that night,' he thought regretfully. 'I should have asked more questions. I should have been more sensitive to her pain and asked her to tell me more.' He furrowed his brow, deeply troubled. 'I am to blame here. I am at fault; grievous fault.'_

_Rogue was not an open person and often reacted defensively to personal questions, but now Xavier saw the significance of her outburst. That was so unlike Rogue, who brooded alone over her feelings or vented in her journal. Not to another person. Not to the Professor. Why hadn't he seen that? That should have been a red flag. But that was all retrospect and would solve nothing for him now._

_Professor Charles gazed thoughtfully at Rogue. The heat waves had ceased to ebb. It was dangerous for him to try again for the moment, and he had a feeling he should check on Logan. He did not want to try telepathy after Logan's brush with Rogue. But did he want to chance leaving Rogue alone right now?_

_At length, Xavier decided his place was at Rogue's side, albeit from a safe distance. How long had he been trying to get through her unconscious? He was not sure. He was tired, physically as well as mentally. Thus far Rogue's condition had not changed for the worse. He had noticed minor improvements, such as perspiration. That meant her body was fighting for her at last. But that was a mere fraction of the battle. Still, she was more stable than before._

_Exhausted, Professor X closed his eyes and slipped into an uneasy sleep._

* * *

><p>So, a little shorter than the first chapter, and not quite as exciting. I'm sure you'll find chapter 3 has a little more action...once I finish writing it up. Currently I'm on Spring Vacation (at home), but usually that means I'm less productive than I am during a school week. I've started chapter 3, but it will be a little longer in coming.<p> 


	3. Catalyst

III.

_Up in his room, Logan tossed in his sleep. Chaotic thoughts and confusion raged in his dreams. Faces and memories he did not remember, and through it all, a repeated phrase. A recurring scene. A man in black. Over and over. _Ssssshing!_ In his sleep, Wolverine released the adamantium claws on one hand and plunged them into the mattress as he lurched sideways. He flung his arm up next to his head, muttering incoherently. This was not like the nightmares that usually plagued him. This was foreign, strange, and these memories were not his own._

_With a roar, Wolverine sat bolt upright in bed. He flung shredded sheets and blankets away from himself as the dreams dissolved to confused visions, except for a single word._

"_Catalyst," he rasped. He was breathing hard, as if he'd run for miles. His heart was pounding, his body drenched with sweat. He felt like he had a high fever, and his head swam for a moment as he leapt to his feet. Dizzy for a moment, he leaned against the door jamb. He forced himself to breathe more evenly. His heart slowed, and the fevered feeling dissipated. The dream, once so vivid and confused, like a spinning carnival ride, had faded. He remembered only fragments. What had seemed so important? It evaded him now, reduced to that one word. What did it mean?_

_Logan ran down the stairs and boarded the elevator that led beneath the mansion. The ride was painfully slow and fueled his agitation. At last it stopped, and the doors opened into the medical bay. Logan sprinted down the white corridor, through sliding doors, and burst in upon Professor X, startling him awake._

"_Chuck." Wolverine's chest was heaving, his heart pounding overtime again. His thoughts whirled incoherently. "There's something—something important. A dream, I think." He paused for a deep breath. "Catalyst," he gasped._

"_Logan," Charles exclaimed in alarm, "are you all right?"_

"_I don't know," Logan panted. "I had dreams. 'Least I think they were dreams. I can't remember much now, but I ran down to tell you. That stuff in my head—and the word 'catalyst.' Does it mean anything to you?"_

"_No," the professor replied._

_Wolverine wheezed, surprised. He was so sure that Xavier would be able to shed light on things. If only he could remember the dream. Or was it a dream? "Chuck," Logan continued, "I think the Rogue's thoughts are in my head."_

_Professor Xavier gazed silently at the exhausted man before him. He considered the implications of what Logan had said. "A transference."_

"_Yeah," Wolverine jumped at the suggestion. "I think so."_

"_But how…" began Professor X, trailing into silence. He thought for a moment, then asked, "Did the scenes in your dream repeat themselves?"_

_Logan started. "Yeah, they did, Chuck. They kept repeating over and over again. It's comin' back to me now. It was like the room was spinning, the way they repeated. Now you mention it, I think it was one scene that came back most. I saw that one face at least a dozen times."_

"_What face?"_

"_It was a girl," Wolverine recalled slowly. "Real tan. Black hair. Blue eyes. Always the same expression." He stopped. "Catalyst. I think it's a name."_

"_What else do you remember, Logan?" Xavier prodded._

"_That's it, Chuck. That's all I remember clearly at all. Everything else is just a blur now."_

_Professor Xavier was quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. "Yes," he agreed at last. "It would seem that somehow, you've absorbed Rogue's memory. I don't know how that could be…but everything you've told me points to that."_

"_You gonna check it out?" Logan suggested._

"_Yes," said Xavier decisively._

"_All right," Logan concurred. "Go for it. Tell me what you find." He came forward and knelt on the ground before the professor's chair._

_Charles placed thumb and forefinger on Logan's temples and closed his eyes. He knew Logan's mind would be no easier to navigate than Rogue's, but it would be safer. Even so, it would take all his concentration. He furrowed his brow and began moving through the fragments of Wolverine's shadowed past until he picked up where Rogue's mind had left off. Perhaps now he would find some definite answers._

Dawn. A new day. A rollercoaster from mansion to school to class. One scene flashed by, followed by another. The hallways, lockers, classrooms, faces. Muddled and chaotic. Then there was Rogue.

So much for her hopes for the morrow. This day had begun as badly as the last had left off. It wasn't so much her blunder in class from yesterday. Most of her fellow students had forgotten all about it. But their speculations on Zachary's absence constantly reminded her of the incident after school.

"Where's Zachary?" one girl wondered. "I didn't think he ever missed class."

"I heard he was in the hospital," another answered. "I don't know why. Maybe it's a concussion or something. He IS an athlete."

Rogue cringed.

Even though she wore gloves, Rogue felt the constant compulsion to keep her hands in her pockets. The light, long sleeves she wore felt too thin, her legs too bare in her long capris. 'Ah shoulda' put on some stockings,' she thought, then shook her head. 'Ah'm goin' crazy! Ah shouldn't have to make fashion blunders in order to cover up!'

If she remained more silent than usual, nobody noticed. Apart from her inner turmoil, Rogue's day turned out to be uneventful. Everything seemed pretty routine until the walk home from class.

In front of the school, Rogue stopped. The courtyard was beginning to fill, and she did not feel like maneuvering through a crowd. 'Maybe mah real mistake was leavin' ahead of everyone,' she thought. 'Naw, that doesn't make sense. It was the gloves.' She sighed. 'Ah'll just be the last one home today. Ah like walking home alone better anyway.' Resignedly, Rogue sat down on an empty bench. She then pulled out some homework from history class and began to read. At least she could get something done.

Rogue found herself quite engrossed by the book, which was usually a rather dry read. She was glad of something else to focus on. She could lose herself for a while and forget about everything else. She didn't even make notes, her mind so readily absorbed the information. Everything seemed so fascinating, so exciting—the rise and fall of civilizations, the historical events behind the world wars, the creation of new boundaries. Every life, a story, and every person a player in some wondrous game—

Rogue started. What was going on? She didn't remember ever being so interested in her reading before. Before now, she had only been able to lose herself to one of her novels, never a textbook. She looked at her watch. Had she really been reading for forty minutes? The courtyard was all but empty. The only other person around was a girl, sitting along on the bench across from Rogue. Rogue realized the girl had been watching. When the girl saw Rogue look in her direction, she stood and began to approach.

'Oh no,' Rogue thought; she didn't exactly know why her mind chose those words, except for her general dislike for company.

"You like history?" the girl asked. She was about Rogue's age, maybe a little older. Her complexion was much darker, especially compared to Rogue's pale white skin. Her hair was so black it almost looked indigo, and her eyes were large and piercing blue.

"Kind of…Ah guess," Rogue answered. The girl smiled.

"I love history," she stated, emphasizing the word 'love.' "It's like reading a long story. You'll never run out of books."

For a reason Rogue couldn't name, she felt uncomfortable. "Who are you?" she asked, then stammered, "Ah, um, Ah mean, what's your name?"

The girl chuckled; her laugh was light and airy. "My name is Catalina," she answered. Catalina fixed Rogue with her penetrating gaze.

Rogue almost forgot herself for a moment, then remembered her manners. "Oh. Nice to meet you. Ah'm Rogue."

"I know."

Rogue started. "You do?"

Catalina nodded. "I know all about you. We're alike, you and I."

Rogue stared. "How d'you mean?"

Catalina smiled sincerely. "Did you enjoy your history book?"

"Yeah; more than Ah usually do," Rogue answered.

"Why don't you read it again?"

Rogue shot Catalina an intensely quizzical look, then opened the book to the page where she'd left off. This time, however, the words seemed dry and uninspired. The information remained largely uninteresting. Had she really just read it as if the book were a bestselling thriller? That didn't seem possible. Rogue finished the paragraph and looked up, baffled.

Catalina seemed to enjoy Rogue's perplexity. "Not as interesting?" she asked. Rogue shook her head and Catalina giggled. "What if I told you it was my enjoyment you felt?"

Rogue gaped. "What're you talking about? What do you _mean_? How's that even—," She broke off.

"We both have our secrets."

"Ah don't know what you're—,"

"Please, Rogue. There's no use in pretending. You know exactly what I mean. And I know exactly what you are." Catalina leaned in closer. "My secret is the polar opposite of yours." She turned her face away from Rogue and seemed to peer into the distance. "I project my thoughts onto others. Feelings, notions, memories—even abilities. I can transfer to them my very essence if I want to." She again turned to Rogue, who was still staring, wide-eyed. "What do you think?"

"What? Well, Ah, Ah don't—what do Ah think about what?"

Catalina closed her eyes. Suddenly a thought exploded in Rogue's mind. Control. Of course. That's what Catalina was getting at. Just one touch, just the barest brush—and Rogue would never have to worry about another accidental absorption. She wouldn't need her gloves, her sleeves. Yes, she understood now. A circuit. An absorption preceding an immediate transfer, almost a trade-off. How carefree she would be, something she had never been before—

"No." Rogue stood quite suddenly. "It doesn't work like that. This is wrong. Professor X would be against this sort of—,"

"This sort of what?" Catalina cut in.

"This sort of solution."

"Doesn't he want you to be able to solve problems?"

Rogue was taken aback. What did she know? More importantly, was she right? "Well, yeah, but Ah don't think this is what he means."

"Why not? Is it too immediate?" Catalina now stood and faced Rogue, her eyes large in her placid face. She appeared perfectly calm, and somehow this made Rogue feel even more flustered.

"Yes," she answered at last. "It's too immediate."

"Haven't you waited long enough?" Catalina cocked her head. "What are you waiting for? Your powers are not going to magically go away, are they?"

"Ah hope not, Ah mean, no, that doesn't happen. Ah don't want to lose them. Ah just want to control them. Professor X is trying to help me learn to have control."

"Are you any closer than you ever were before?" Catalina probed. "Do you think that day will come anytime soon, when you'll never have to worry about touching someone?"

Rogue hung her head. "No," she mumbled. "Ah don't think it'll _ever_ happen." She sighed. Then she straightened. "But this still feels wrong. Ah don't think it'd be right. It's just…too easy."

"But think of all the possibilities," Catalina pressed. "No more seclusion. You'd be so much freer."

Rogue felt her will begin to slip, but remained adamant. "No. Ah can't."

Catalina sighed. "You're not going to change your mind on this, are you? Well, if you do, you know where to find me."

"Ah do?" A picture entered Rogue's head. It was the courtyard, where she stood even now. "Here?" A nod from Catalina confirmed.

"Very good," Catalina praised. "You see how easy it is. But you had better get back to your mansion. Just remember—this opportunity won't last forever." With that, Catalina turned and started off, leaving Rogue staring after her. With a sigh, Rogue picked up her knapsack and began to head in the opposite direction, toward the mansion.

The scene flickered and blurred, like a dim reflection in the murkiest pond. Sounds grew muted as they do underwater. An indistinct dinner table, the distant babble of voices, plates and forks and spoons spinning away into oblivion and the darkness of night. Like someone watching a film while holding down the fast-forward button. A few pages of homework, a long and restless night of sleep…and the film resumes, all crystal clear and real again. Another morning.

Class and class and more class. Rogue wasn't sure she could stand it. She had been unable to concentrate at all. How notes materialized in front of her was a mystery; she barely remembered writing down a word. All she could think of was her strange visit yesterday. Catalina had offered her a solution, and Rogue had rejected it without even thinking. Was she just being stupid? Or should she trust her instincts? But what was the worst thing that could happen? Oh yes—control. That's what. How terrible.

The bell rang and jolted Rogue from her gloomy reveries. She stuffed her papers and books into her knapsack and melded with the throng of students on their way to the cafeteria. Automatically she stood in line in the cafeteria. She had too many things on her mind to try making her way through the crowded hallways to eat by herself. She barely noticed what kind of food she was served and somehow managed to grab a couple utensils at the end of the line.

The tables were filling up, but Rogue walked past them and out into the open air. For the first time in a few days, she joined Kitty and Kurt outside with her tray of food. She felt somehow reassured by the welcome on their faces. But still she could not keep her mind on their conversation.

"I'm telling you," Kurt was adamant, "'soccer' is a completely misleading name! Every country but America calls it fútbol, or Fußball!"

"I'm telling you, Kurt," Kitty exclaimed, "we already have a sport called football! Obviously we can't have two sports with the same name."

"But Kitty, you don't even _like_ sports!"

"Yeah, well, you don't have to like something to have an opinion on it, do you? And maybe you should argue with someone who cares!"

Kurt sighed in exasperation. "Ach, all right, fine… Rogue, help me out here!"

Rogue looked up. "Huh?" She put down her fork. Her Jell-O was almost completely unappetizing anyway. "What do Ah think about what?"

"Were you even listening?"

"Yeah, you've been like, really quiet; I mean even for you," Kitty put it.

"Ja, what are you thinking about?"

"Oh…" Rogue debated for a moment about speaking her mind, then at last gave in. "Remember before you could control your powers? Like, right after they manifested?"

"Uhuh?" Kitty nodded.

Rogue thought a moment, then forged ahead. "Well what if was still like that, Ah mean right now? If neither of you could really control your powers." A breeze kicked up and blew Rogue's hair in her face, and she had to clamp a hand down on her nearly-empty paper plate, almost smashing her gloved hand into the red Jell-O.

"Huh. I don't think I follow you, Rogue," Kurt admitted.

"Ah mean, just think if you had no control over your powers. What if someone offered you a way to immediately have control? Would you take it?"

"Well," said Kitty, slowly, "I don't know. But I don't think I would. Like, at worst I would have fallen through the table in front of everyone, or something like that; nothing too terrible."

"Same," Kurt agreed. "Before coming here, sometimes I'd just disappear all of a sudden if I was startled or something. Tough to explain, sure, but it didn't happen that often."

Rogue saw that there was no way they could understand where she was coming from. "All right, well think about mah powers. Ah can't control them. All Ah can do is cover up my skin night and day and hope for the best. But accidents happen. What if suddenly Ah was able to control that?"

"You mean, like, with willpower or something?" Kitty asked.

"No…Ah mean, what if someone could give me something that would help me control mah powers?"

"Oh." Kitty thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Gee, I don't know, Rogue. That seems a little…too easy, y'know?"

"Ja, something like that," Kurt chimed in. "It goes against what the Professor has taught us all this time. I think it's better to learn to control it yourself."

Rogue felt indignant. "You said yourself nothing terrible happened when you couldn't completely control your powers. But me, mah powers can be harmful."

"I know what you mean," Kitty answered, "but I don't think that makes it right. I don't think the Professor would like that."

"How d'you know?" Rogue implored. "He wants us to have control, but mah powers so far can't be controlled at all! Ah can't help it. Would it be so bad to find control from a source other than mahself, or him?"

Kitty and Kurt exchanged a glance. Kitty shook her head. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem right. Like, I don't know, cheating or something."

"How is that cheating?" Rogue burst out. "To me it seems like an answer! How could that be so wrong?"

Her friends remained silent. "It doesn't seem right, that's all," Kitty murmured at last.

But Rogue had already made up her mind. As the school day ended, she became more and more certain of what she'd do. When the last bell rang, Rogue headed straight to the courtyard where she had met Catalina the day before. She pulled out her history book and pretended to read as the crowd thinned around her.

Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. The last few stragglers found their way down the front steps and walked off, chattering happily. The courtyard was empty except for two students, now standing before each other.

"I knew you'd come," Catalina smiled.

Rogue nodded, hesitant for a moment. Doubts surfaced. Was this really what she wanted? Yes. Rogue stepped forward decisively. With all her heart, yes.

"_Chuck," Wolverine broke the silence. The Professor had surfaced from the disjointed world of memory and now sat in a brooding, contemplative mood. "What did you find?" Xavier didn't answer for several long moments. Then he turned and looked at Wolverine._

"_A chance meeting," he mused. "Rogue met her exact opposite; at least where powers are concerned."_

_Logan gazed at him, stern and silent. "You don't mean…"_

"_Yes," Charles affirmed. "But I don't blame Rogue for the choice she made. In fact, in her shoes, I probably would have done the same."_

"_That's not what's bothering you, Chuck," Logan stated._

"_No. You're quite right. That's not all, I'm sure of it. It's simply…too much of a coincidence. I feel like this meeting was set up by someone. I'm almost certain there is someone behind the scenes. But who? And why? Why now?"_

_Logan stood and regarded his friend for a long moment. "You should rest, Chuck," he said at last. "I'll watch over Rogue. We'll find more answers when you're fresh."_

_Xavier knew his friend's advice was sound; it was the same advice he himself had given many a time. The Professor chuckled wryly. "I suppose there are a few hours left to this night. I might as well make use of them."_

* * *

><p>Sorry about the wait. I didn't want the quality of the chapter to suffer for my lack of time. I've read stories where the sequelschapters/parts degrade, and I did NOT want that to happen to this one. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I shouldn't have much trouble staying on-track in the future.


	4. Rising Action

IV.

_The night was long for Logan. It had taken all his willpower to let the matter of Rogue's malady rest for a few hours. But he knew the weariness of his friend was far more than his own. He knew that even a great telepath like Charles could not maneuver through two broken minds in one night without wearing out. Hours on end he paced, or stood in brooding silence over the cot where Rogue lay. His nerves tingled such that he could not sit down for more than a few moments at a time. His temper flared on occasion, and it was with great effort that he reined it in each time. The thought of someone setting Rogue up like this—that someone would do something to harm her so—it made his blood boil._

_Dawn finally broke, and with it came another attempt at more answers. It was painfully slow going. Wolverine waited for the Professor's return. Xavier was not long in coming._

_Logan nodded a terse greeting as Charles wheeled into the room and began to examine their patient. "It seems she is improving ever so slightly. That could just be the ebb and flow of her malady, however. It is hard to tell."_

"_You ready to do some more mind-reading?" Wolverine asked in a low, husky voice._

"_Yes. I think this time I will do it on Rogue, however. The memories in your head ended rather abruptly, but I hope she has retained most of them herself." Xavier sighed. "I hope we are not running out of time, or wasting our efforts on what could be a dead end."_

"_No," Wolverine assured him. "Something tells me we're not. I don't know why, but all my instincts tell me that we're heading in the right direction. The trail is getting hotter, Chuck. I can feel it."_

"_I hope you're right." With that, the Professor brought himself to Rogue's side and placed a cool, damp cloth across her forehead. He did not want to risk her temperature rising if he had to probe more forcefully this time around. The deeper he delved, the more resistance he was sure to find. Xavier laid his palm over the cloth and took a deep breath._

Three days had passed since Rogue's encounter with Catalina. Sure, she now had most of the girl's memories, but Rogue resolved it would be her final absorption. Over time she would perfect the use of this new gift. She could filter out the things she didn't want; she could return memories, thoughts, and emotions to their owners, where such things belonged. Three days, and already she seemed to be getting the hang of her new power.

She had been practicing. Nothing too drastic or noticeable, just a prod here and there, a little change in behavior. Harmless little things, like mentally suggesting that someone ask for the salt at the dinner table. She had compelled Scott to take Jean for a drive the evening before, something she was sure they two of them would enjoy. But she dared not try anything on Jean herself, certain that Jean would detect any foreign, telepathic compulsion. She had already had a close call the morning before, when she made Kurt take the stairs instead of teleporting. Upon reaching the first floor, he had been completely baffled by his own action.

"What in the world?" he cried. "I took the stairs? Why did I take the stairs?"

"Gee, Kurt," Kitty teased, "are you feeling all right? You look a little winded. Stairs can wear you out of you don't exercise enough."

"But I never take the stairs when I'm at the mansion!" Kurt wailed. "What's wrong with me? Maybe I should go back to bed, I'm so confused," and with that, he'd begun to walk back up the stairs. That brought howls of laughter from Kitty and a few of the other mutants congregating in the foyer on their way to school. "What is going on?" Kurt yelped, realizing what he'd almost done a second time.

"Man, Kurt, relax!" Evan laughed. "Everyone else takes the stairs, there's nothing unusual about it."

Nightcrawler considered this, then sighed. "Maybe it's just pretending to be normal all the time. You start to act like you are." He shrugged, took a step forward, then grinned. "I'll beat you to the car!" and with that, he vanished.

Rogue breathed a sigh of relief. That had seemed a bit too close. Had she come close to being discovered? Fortunately, nothing came of it, and she was beginning to feel more confident. But if she could actually practice this newly acquired skill, she would be sure. Her garb was changing, too; she had begun to cover up less and less. Today she wore a pair of cutoff shorts that stopped just above her knees, as well as a tank top. She still wore gloves, however; a pair of long, black gloves that came up to her elbows. If she neglected to cover her hands, someone would certainly know something was up. Everyone would know eventually, but not yet. She had to prove that this gift could work.

'Ah'll perfect it,' she thought. 'They'll see Ah was right to take what Catalina offered. Ah just have to show them—especially Professor Charles. Ah'm sure he'll agree with me once Ah show that Ah can really control mah power.'

The school day passed uneventfully. Rogue smiled to herself as she opened to the last chapter in history. Another gift from Catalina was her new interest in history. The lecture passed quickly, and Rogue needed half as many notes as usual. She almost hung on every word, effortlessly storing away the rapid-fire historical facts. Dates, names, battles, she remembered nearly everything.

Class let out and Rogue stepped into the open air of the hallway. Unused to going sleeveless, she shivered. 'Ah shoulda' brought a jacket,' she thought, but smiled, knowing she'd have to get used to the feeling eventually. She was glad that she had worn the same black boots as usual. The morning before she'd tried on a pair of flip-flops. That had not gone well.

"How in the world are these things s'posed to stay on yer feet?" she'd burst out. "Who can even wear 'em except on the beach? Ya can't even call 'em shoes! Ah'm gonna trip and break an ankle as soon as Ah try takin' a step!"

Kitty laughed, seated on her bed and watching Rogue's vain attempts to walk normally in a part of blue flip-flops. "There's definitely an art to it," she chuckled. "But anyway, don't they leave your feet kind of, you know, bare?"

"Ah'm sure Ah'd be the worse for it if anyone stepped on mah feet," she asserted. Then she paused. Surely she could confide in Kitty, couldn't she? Besides, she would need a willing volunteer in order to truly test her newfound ability. Why not Kitty? She had made a small absorption before without knocking her out. But where could she even begin? No, not this time. Perhaps later. Instead, Rogue had kicked the flip-flops off her feet and slipped on her combat boots instead. When Kitty expressed concern over her shorts, which had been a pair of cropped capris at the time, Rogue replied, "Doesn't matter. Ah'm sure Ah'll be the only one wearing shorts today. Ah'll take what Ah can get." Kitty seemed unconvinced. "Believe me, nothin's gonna happen! Ah'm just…tired of wearing long pants in this weather. That's all." Kitty shrugged resignedly, if a little uncertainly, and that was that.

Still, at lunch time, Rogue decided to keep her distance from her friends. She felt a little chafed; would she have to avoid everyone until she proved her control? Maybe she had jumped the gun with her new attire; maybe she had tipped her hand a bit too far. Impatience welled up inside her. With a deep frown, she sat alone at a table outside. The cooler weather had kept most students from venturing out today. Rogue sat back, trying to enjoy the chilly sensation of cloudy weather and a light spring breeze. 'Soon,' she told herself, 'it won't matter anymore.' With practice, it would become second nature. Action-reaction. Almost a reflex. But still, she felt somehow on-edge. Rogue finished her lunch and took her empty tray back inside.

The remainder of the school day passed uneventfully. As usual, Rogue joined the throng of students leaving the school building. But when she saw Scott and Jean up ahead, she took a detour behind the school buildings. Kitty and Kurt were easy enough to reassure, but Scott? And Jean? No way. Boy would they ever lecture her. That was the last thing she needed right now. 'Ah'll go home the long way,' she thought, skirting along the side of the school buildings. She hurried past one, then another, eyes forward. She did not see the shadow waiting behind a corner as she walked by, but the voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I heard the rumors, Cher, but I wouldna' believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

Startled, Rogue whirled about. "What're _you_ doing here?" she demanded.

"I heard a friend of mine discovered she had a hidden talent. Wanted to see for myself," Gambit answered, arms folded across his chest as he leaned easily against the brick wall, perfectly relaxed.

Heard? Heard from whom? Rogue's heart skipped a beat. How could he possibly know anything? "How'd you—who told you—," she stammered.

Gambit chuckled. "Let's just say, word gets around in my circle," he replied in his low, Cajun drawl.

Rogue thought for a minute. Could Catalina possibly be..? No. There was no way. Rogue had absorbed the girl's memories. She would know if Catalina were somehow affiliated with the Acolytes. Still, that didn't explain how suddenly Remy seemed to know all about the arrangement. 'Well,' thought Rogue, 'no point in bein' all secretive. Time to put mah cards on the table.'

"How do you know Catalina?" she asked.

"You mean Catalyst?" Remy smiled. "Oh, she's freelance. Done us a favor or two. Jus' little things."

"Catalyst?" Rogue asked. "Why's she called that?" The name had an ominous sound to it; and there was the meaning, too. It gave Rogue a feeling of dread.

"Oh, I'm sure you can guess, Chérie. All in the name. She gets things started. Gets some little ol' events moving in the favor of whoever's willin' to pay."

"Pay?" Rogue asked. "Ah didn't give her any payment."

"Non—but someone did." He smiled. "Catalyst isn't what you'd call the altruistic type."

Rogue was silent for a long moment. "Are you warning me?" she asked slowly.

"Warning? Naw, Cher, no warning here. I'm jus' givin' you some information you might find useful. Don' want you goin' about this with your eyes closed." He smiled cryptically. "Jus' lookin' out for you, Cher."

Rogue smirked. "Ah see. Ah guess Ah should thank you properly, then, shouldn't Ah?"

"No thanks is necessary, Rogue. I only wanted you to know a little about the source of your new power."

Now Rogue chuckled. "To be honest," she answered lightly, "Ah don't really care." With a smile, she stepped toward him. "Ah have control. That's all that matters."

"Do you, now? How do you know?"

"Ah don't know—Ah won't until Ah try." For a moment she hesitated. Could she trust Gambit? No, of course not. He was probably the last person in the world she should trust.

Perfect.

Rogue pulled off a glove and put her hand on Remy's shoulder. "What d'you say to bein' mah first real test subject?" she asked, her face close to his. And with that, she kissed him.

It worked. Oh, sweet bliss, it truly worked! It was like energy, like tiny sparks of electricity coursing through her. A circuit. A perfect circle. A vague current of memories and feelings swept across Rogue as Gambit kissed her back, but the images and emotions had no substance. They passed like shadows over her, through her, and returned to their owner, leaving but the vaguest imprint upon her mind. Instead of a full-on absorption, she felt only a sense of déjà vu—like there was something she couldn't quite remember.

Rogue pulled back and smiled triumphantly at Remy. His sideways smile showed no sign of surprise, only the satisfied look as usual. But by the expression in his eyes, Rogue knew he felt pleasantly surprised. This pleased her.

"Last time you kissed me," he mused, almost teasingly, "you knocked me off my feet. Down and out."

"Ah wish Ah could remember that," Rogue laughed. "But things are a little different now."

"Good for you, Cher," Remy congratulated her. "Good for you." Rogue barely heard him. His hand had closed over her bare fingers. It was a sensation she hadn't dared to hope for, something she would never forget.

It was with a feeling of euphoria that Rogue made her way back to the mansion. She had her proof. If anyone questioned her, she could say with absolute certainty that her powers were under her control. And if they didn't believe her, well, she could just show them. She almost looked forward to their incredulity.

It was not the first time she was the last one to the mansion. She knew that any confrontation would have to wait. All the same, she was a bit disappointed to walk into an empty foyer. After briefly glancing around, Rogue shrugged to herself and walked upstairs, still jubilant.

She walked into her room to find Kitty busy over some homework. "I wondered when you'd show up," Kitty mused, and looked up. "Um, were you dressed like that all day?"

"Yes Ah was," Rogue smiled triumphantly.

"Okay, now don't take this the wrong way," Kitty tried to choose her words carefully, "but that's just asking for a mishap."

Rogue could have laughed aloud. She could have burst into gales of laughter, she felt so good. Barely able to contain herself, she replied, "That's not gonna happen anymore."

Kitty didn't know what to make of Rogue's excitement. The girl beaming at her did not seem like Rogue at all. "Rogue, are you all right? You're acting really strange…for you, I mean."

Now Rogue did laugh. "Ah guess it's time Ah told you, told everyone—Ah can control mah powers now!" She grinned ecstatically.

Kitty gaped. "What? I mean, are you sure? How do you know?"

"Just trust me. Ah've been able to try it. Want me to show you?" Rogue pulled off her gloves. She did not need them anymore. "Give me your hand."

"N-no, I don't think so," Kitty answered suspiciously.

"Kitty, come on, it's not like we haven't done this before. Remember? Ah barely touched your fingertip. No harm was done."

Kitty wasn't completely convinced, but she nodded. "All right, but just a fingertip." She got up and extended her index finger.

"Just focus on something. Like homework. Think about your homework," Rogue instructed, reaching forward and placing her finger against Kitty's. Rogue felt something like a tiny static shock, then nothing but the familiar rush, much more muted this time, almost indiscernible.

"Whoa," Kitty exclaimed when she pulled her hand back. "I didn't feel anything."

"And Ah don't even know what homework you're working on. No absorption at all."

"That's great, Rogue," Kitty said, "but what if you accidentally touched someone and weren't prepared? I don't think it'd work then."

To her chagrin, Rogue couldn't argue with that. She had not yet had enough practice for it to become second nature. But she didn't want to admit that outright. "Ah'm sure Ah ccould handle it."

"Well, maybe you'd still better change before we head down for dinner."

Rogue wasn't sure why her temper flared. "No. Ah'm not changin'. There's no need."

"Okay, but at least your gloves—,"

"NO! No more gloves! Not ever! And you can't tell me what to do!" Didn't Kitty trust her? Couldn't she see that there was no more need for the constant covering? Those days were in the past.

"Rogue, please! Just until you're better at it?"

"Ah won't GET better if Ah'm always wearin' mah gloves! Ah'm through! Ah'm ready now! And if you don't believe me, well, Ah don't care!" Angrily, Rogue stormed from their room. "Ah'm goin' for a walk," she shouted back.

Down the stairs and out the door, Rogue fumed inwardly. Just minutes ago she'd been on top of the world. Hadn't she proven that she had complete control? Why did a little extra practice matter? Maybe it wasn't a reflex quite yet, but she'd just have to concentrate. It wasn't that hard. "Ah don't need more practice," she muttered. "Ah'm fast enough."

It was raining, but she didn't care. The cool water felt refreshing against her skin. A walk in the rain is what she needed. She needed to calm down. She needed to relax. She still felt roiling anger inside her chest, and her head hurt. Probably from shouting. She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. She felt a little feverish. 'Ah'm probably just all worked up,' she thought. 'Ah shouldn't have lost it. Ah can't expect everyone to just accept that Ah suddenly have control of mah powers. That's not fair.' She sighed, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the rain in exasperation.

She walked on, through the front gates and away from the mansion. She had no destination in mind, she just walked. The sky was dark, even though her watch only showed 4 PM. Thunder rolled in the distance. Probably just a passing storm. The wind had kicked up a bit, but that didn't bother her. She followed the wet sidewalk, not caring where her feet took her. She turned right, then left, and right again. How far was she from the mansion? Rogue couldn't even guess, though she knew she'd find it again if she simply backtracked.

Again she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. It was hot. Was she getting sick? Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to go out in the rain. Her head hurt. She was getting a pounding headache. 'Ah should head back,' she thought, turning in place, 'before Ah start to feel any worse.'

Though the breeze and falling rain were cold, Rogue felt increasingly warm, like she'd run for miles on a hot day. The rain splattered against her skin and hissed. She looked down at her hands. Steam rose from her bare arms. "What in the world..?"

A wave of heat washed over her. She gasped, clutching her head. What was this, a sudden onset of the flu? Why was she so hot? She burned with fever. Reaching down, Rogue yanked her boots from her feet, then her socks, which she flung away. She staggered forward. Her watch showed 4:30. Another thirty minutes and she'd be back at the mansion, everything would be fine. She would change into something dry and sit down to dinner with everyone at the mansion. Just a little farther… Rogue's vision blurred, and her feet, bare against the thankfully cool, wet pavement, felt leaden. Her boots dropped from her hands. Rogue barely noticed. Her body screamed for her to stop, to sit down, to lie down, to stop moving and rest.

Her head throbbed. Her hands were burning up, and the rain hissed and sizzled against her skin. She pulled at her tank top, trying to loosen the material which clung to her, constricting her. The rain cooled her a little, but at the same time seared her skin, a cocoon of boiling water.

Rogue fell to her knees, shivering. "Kitty," she hissed. "Kurt, Jean, Professor, someone—help…" Her voice was weak, almost silent, even to her own ears. She collapsed against the brick wall that ran along the sidewalk. She fought for consciousness, but reality seemed to blur. 'Jean, Professor,' she called silently, 'where are you?' and slipped into blackness.

_Professor Charles could fill in the blanks. Kitty had come downstairs with a headache, looking for Rogue. She said Rogue had been acting strangely, lashing out at her—but she could not remember why. She remembered that Rogue had gone for a walk in the rain, and asked if she'd come back yet. Scott, Jean, and Kurt had left to look for her. How clearly the scene played again in Charles' mind._

_A quarter of an hour passed before the Professor got Jean's psychic call. He could tell something was wrong, and when at last he and Logan arrived at the scene in the X-van, Rogue and Nightcrawler lay unconscious on the sidewalk._

"_He tried to 'port her to the mansion," Scott had explained, tension in his low, even tone. "I don't know what happened."_

"_Scott, you get Nightcrawler in the front seat," Professor Xavier directed. "Jean, you're the only one of us who can move Rogue without touching her. Put her in the very back—gently. We don't want to get too near her."_

_It was tricky getting Rogue from the van to the medical bay, but at last it was done. Jean tried hooking her up to a heart monitor and an IV._

'_I can't get the IV in,' Jean reported to Charles telepathically, who was in the adjacent room with Nightcrawler. 'Maybe I'll have better luck with the heart monitor, but I can feel the heat even when I use telekinesis.'_

_This alarmed Professor Charles. 'Jean, no, stay away, I think you should get out of there,' he communicated._

'_But I'm so close, if I can just get the sensors a little closer—ah!'_

'_Jean!' No answer._

_Professor Charles had found Jean slumped over in a chair next to Rogue's bed, unconscious, unresponsive, but stable. Now Charles and Logan were at it alone._

_But at last Professor Charles had the answers he needed. "Logan," he said, "we need to find Catalina." He took his hand from Rogue's brow._

_Without warning, Rogue sat bolt upright in the hospital bed. "Professor," she gasped. "Logan." The two men started, utterly shocked. Rogue's eyes were wide. She glanced around the room, from Logan to Xavier, then jumped to her feet. "Ah gotta go somewhere. You comin' with me?"_


	5. The Best Intentions

V.

_Rogue collapsed again onto the cot and fell back against the white pillow. "Ohh, mah head," she moaned, closing her eyes in pain. She breathed deeply for several seconds, her hands pressed to her temples. "What…how long have Ah been lyin' here?"_

"_Three days," the Professor answered. "What do you remember?"_

_Rogue sat up again, more deliberately this time. "Enough. Ah gotta go. Now." She swung her feet over the edge of the hospital bed and slowly stood. "Either of you comin' with me?"_

"_Rogue," Professor Xavier protested, "you've been in a coma for three days. You absorbed a power that your own body violently rejected. You should not be going anywhere. You need to rest."_

"_Ah'm just fine," Rogue answered. "Ah just feel a little feverish. Nothin' Ah can't handle. And if Ah've already been out for days, Ah don't have any time to waste."_

"_Where are you going?" Logan asked._

"_Ah'm gonna find the guy who did this to me."_

_Logan and Professor Charles stared. "You know who did this?" Wolverine growled._

"_Ah know his face. Catalina's memories are in mah head. You just didn't look there, Professor. Yes, Ah know you were in mah head. Logan, you saw it too. I know you did. But we can talk about it later. We're wasting time."_

"_What do you plan to do?" the Professor urged._

"_Ah'm gonna find out what the big idea was, settin' me up with Catalina like that. Ah know there's a reason. Catalina didn't know. If she did, Ah would know, too. She doesn't even know who she was working for, and neither do Ah. All Ah know is it was a man in black. But we have to leave, NOW. Are you comin' with me?" She stood, abruptly, swayed for a moment, then caught her balance._

"_You better leave this to us. We'll handle this," Logan answered in a low, dangerous tone. "You can hardly stand. You shouldn't go anywhere." But he knew there was no stopping Rogue when she had made up her mind._

"_Ah have to do this, Logan. Don't try and stop me. You know you can't. Ah just…need to catch my breath."_

"_Rogue," Xavier began, gently but firmly, "you have been through some considerable trauma. The best thing you can do is rest. You have quite a bit of recovering to do."_

"_He's right, my dear. You need to rest." The strained voice came from the doorway. The trio started and spun to face the dark-haired stranger who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere._

"_You!" Rogue cried, supporting herself on the unused IV pole. "You did this to me!"_

"_You have some explainin' to do," Wolverine growled, unleashing his claws. "Who are you? How'd you get in here? Start talkin'!"_

_The man in the doorway held out his hands, palms out, as if to hold back the torrential waters of a flood. "I'm not here to fight," he said quickly. "I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I did not mean for it to go this far." His tone filled with regret. "I did not want to hurt anyone."_

"_But you did, Bub. Now you've got me to answer to."_

"_I am not here for you. I wanted to see the girl." The man took a step back, his square, clean-shaven jaw tightened, his brows knit in a frown. Well-built and tanned, he was still no match for Wolverine. And yet he showed no fear. Only a grave concern. His deep, serious eyes traveled to Rogue's face._

"_Haven't you done enough?" Rogue hissed, her frame quivering. The effort it took for her to stand showed in her voice._

"_My dear child," the man murmured. "I am sorry. Is there nothing—,"_

"_NO!" Rogue shouted. "Get out! Get out now!"_

"_But Rogue," he pleaded. "I can help you! Please, let me help you."_

"_No! Wait—how did you even know…? Yes, you knew it before, and Catalina knew it, too—and my powers, everything about me. Who ARE you?" Something was off. What was it? What was it about this man that was so familiar? The posture, the intonation, the mannerisms—they didn't fit. They were out-of-place, and yet Rogue knew them so well… "No," she gasped. "It can't be…" But of course. That is how he had gotten past security, why the Professor had not sensed his presence, why Wolverine still did not recognize the intruder. Rogue glared up at the man before her. "Mystique," she spat bitterly. "I should have known."_

_The man's dark figure melted away to reveal Mystique's tall, muscular form. "Yes," Mystique affirmed. "But Rogue, I only wanted to help you! You were so unhappy, so alone. No child deserves that kind of burden."_

"_I understand, Raven," Charles broke in. "But control is something she must learn on her own."_

"_With all due respect, Charles," Mystique flung back, turning now to face the Professor, "do you really presume to know better than I what is best for my own daughter?"_

"_She's in good hands here, Mystique," Logan put forth. He had straightened up now and retracted his claws, folding his arms again across his chest, his chin ducked low so that his eyes glared beneath his dark brow._

"_Better than mine? I am her mother! I only wanted what was best for her!"_

"_Did you?" Rogue cut in. "Haven't Ah suffered enough from your twisted intentions? Ah don't think you even know what's best for your_self_."_

"_But Rogue—,"_

"_No." Rogue shook her head and glowered up at Mystique. "Ah've already told you—Ah don't want anything from you. Ah don't want your help, Ah don't want you in mah life. Get out."_

"_But—but I can help you, Rogue!"_

"_Ah'm gonna be just fine. No thanks to you. Now get out. Ah'm not askin'." Mystique opened her lips once more to protest, but Rogue cut her off with a violent wave of her hand. "Ah want you to leave, Mystique. Now."_

_For a moment Mystique stood, stunned, a look of sorrow in her eyes. Then it was gone. She straightened, squared her shoulders, and pressed her lips together. "Very well," she said in a flat, dry tone. "I know when I am not wanted."_

'_Do you really?' Rogue thought sourly. "Goodbye, Mystique."_

"_Goodbye, Anna. Professor." She gave Logan a curt nod, and stalked through the doors and out of sight. Rogue slumped back._

"_Ah'm sorry, Professor," she muttered. "You were right. Ah have to learn this mahself. Ah shouldn't have tried for a miracle. Ah was stupid to even think it." She closed her eyes, resigned, then opened them and looked at her hands. "It was nice while it lasted," she sighed. "But mah fingers are used to gloves anyway."_

"_Everything is all right now, Rogue." Charles wheeled over to her bedside. "I do not blame you. Yours is no easy burden to bear. Mystique was right about that."_

_Rogue winced. "DO NOT bring her up again!" She sighed. "Sorry. Ah just…need some rest. Ah'll be fine, Professor. Ah'm just tired, is all."_

_Xavier smiled. "Get some good rest. Now, I have a couple other patients to attend to. In fact, I have a feeling they'll be coming around any minute." He wheeled out the doors. Nightcrawler and Jean would still need his attention. His work was far from over._

"_Ah'm sorry to you, too, Logan," Rogue mumbled as Wolverine walked by._

"_Don't worry about it," Logan brushed it off. "But if you want to make it up to me, you can get better nice and quick, K?"_

_Rogue chuckled. "Ah will. That's a promise." With a sigh she closed her heavy lids and drifted instantly to sleep. Wolverine ducked into the hall to find Professor Charles waiting for him._

"_What is it, Chuck?" Logan asked. "More trouble?"_

"_Mmmm…perhaps. There are still things I can't figure out—for instance, how Mystique knew Rogue was in such a critical state, or why she set her up with Catalyst in the first place."_

_Wolverine's eyes darkened anew with smoldering anger. "You think there's more to it than so-called motherly love?"_

"_I don't know. Perhaps. But it is impossible to guess at Mystiques intentions, whatever she does." He sighed and wheeled about, making his way slowly down the hall as Wolverine fell into step beside him. "Whether her actions stemmed from some sort of genuine concern for Rogue or a more sinister purpose, I don't know. There are some things, Logan, that we may never know."_

* * *

><p>Well there you go! Finally. The anti-climactic ending. I hope it was worth the wait. Sorry it took so painfully long. I changed my mind a few times about the ending. Certainly this was the shortest chapter, but I kept finding there wasn't much worth resolving. But I'm finally finished! Thanks for reading.<p> 


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